What Shrinks Know

Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life.

~ Rumi

Last week, December arrived with a super moon and the beginning of Mercury in Retrograde. Winter solstice, the darkest day of the year, is next week. Temperatures here in Chicago finally feel like winter. Skies are gray and snow is on the ground.

We’re deep into the holidays, with three weeks to go before they’re over. This season is always the busiest for psychologists. People are dealing with family dramas, stress, depression, disappointment, demands, and expectations. We grieve those lost to us. The holidays can leave us financially broke, emotionally bereft, and just hoping to survive.

No matter how we feel, we can’t escape… lights strung in trees, Christmas music, bell-ringers. Years ago I had a patient who was having a particularly difficult year. She said every time she went outside she wanted to scream, “Get your Christ out of my face!”

It is late August and there is a chill in the air. The temperature is 73 degrees, but the breeze I feel on my porch makes it seem like early fall. Makes me want to pull on soft, worn jeans and a roomy turtleneck sweater.

The chill is coming way too early. Normally this time of summer, I start to weary of the heat. The grass is usually parched and my herbs and impatiens wilted from too much sun. The constant din of cicadas makes me feel like I have tinnitus. This year, June was cold and wet and summer weather didn’t launch until July. And even though July was the hottest on record, our indecisive August makes me feel gypped.

A year has passed since the death of Robin Williams sent the world into mourning. I received so many moving and grateful responses to the very personal post I wrote in reaction to his suicide, that I am reposting it now. Please share if you know anyone whose life has been touched by suicide. Together we might ease the pain of a “survivor”… or even save a life.

I attempted suicide when I was sixteen. Over the almost fifty years since, I have told very few people. I’ve only shared when the importance of disclosure felt greater than my desire for privacy. I have shared with others who have survived suicide attempts. I’ve also shared with those in danger of succumbing to their suicidal urges—when the sharing of my personal experience would have more impact than my professional experience—when it might save a life.More

Though I’ve never read Samuel Beckett’s novel, The Unnamable, I recognize the above quote as describing a place I’ve been all too many times in my life. It is that place of loss or illness or tragedy where, despite the support of loving people, you feel totally alone. It is that place of darkness where screamed and whispered cries of “Why?” are met with deafening silence—because there are no answers. It is that place with no road map out. It is that place you feel is impossible to survive—and yet, you do.

It is in places such as these, where the seeds for extreme gratitude are sown.

Last week I wrote about the power of mindful gratitude—how a practice of intentionally seeking out experiences for which to be grateful can bring us peace in stressful times. In previous posts, I’ve written about the value of perspective. It is in looking back that we often see the gifts that our disappointments and losses eventually brought us—valuable experiences and relationships that we would not have had without going through the pain—and which we would never choose to give up.

“Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings, turn routine jobs into joy, and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.” —

William Arthur Ward

The week of Thanksgiving has arrived, ushering in the most stressful and emotionally complex season celebrated in the Western world. Already, my patient load has risen!

None of us reaches adulthood without carrying baggage from childhood. And disappointments and losses continue to accumulate over the years. It is inevitable—we cannot live and love in this world without experiencing pain. And although we would so love to be able to neatly compartmentalize the different seasons and stages of our lives, it is not possible. The truth is, no matter how circuitous our life’s path, our lives are lived on a continuum. Every joyful memory remains to be triggered by something in our present. And it is the same with every loss. Even wounds we think have healed nicely can be ripped open without warning during the holidays.

Because my last blog post was the hardest and most personal I’ve written, I had to step back and take some breathing room before following up. I’d struggled with opening up—being so vulnerable and disclosing. As a shrink, I walk a fine line. Over the years, I’ve selectively shared my stories with patients when they’ve felt relevant to healing. But I’m still new to sharing my most personal experiences with others, especially in a public forum.

I attempted suicide when I was sixteen. Over the almost fifty years since, I have told very few people. I’ve only shared when the importance of disclosure felt greater than my desire for privacy. I have shared with others who have survived suicide attempts. I’ve also shared with those in danger of succumbing to their suicidal urges—when the sharing of my personal experience would have more impact than my professional experience—when it might save a life.

Suicide is not a conversation-friendly topic. Like most provocative subjects, it makes people uncomfortable and can generate rigid opinions. But, there has never been a greater need for education on the complexities of suicide. One thing shrinks know for sure about suicide is that it is contagious. Hotlines and ERs have been on high alert since Robin Williams committed suicide. If someone who has so much going on for him cannot go on living, why should I? Maybe opening the discussion is Robin’s last gift to us—not through laughter, but through tears.

On July 25th my purse was stolen, and I’ve been locked in a tangle of emotions ever since. The only things that help are all the lessons I’m learning, and sharing my story with everyone I can so maybe it won’t happen to them.

I’ve never considered myself the victim of a crime before. Two years ago, my Rav4 was vandalized—a window smashed in a grab and run. All I lost were a bright pink coin purse holding a few dollars in change, and the hundred dollars and time required to replace the window. I wasn’t happy, but it felt like such a random, spontaneous act that it was easy to move past. And my favorite tooled-leather coin purse remained buried deep in the console, so I didn’t feel any sentimental loss. The only losses were time and money. The lesson learned was never leave anything valuable in plain sight.

The theft of my purse was neither random nor spontaneous. It was a deliberate act perpetrated by a team of professional thieves. It has cost me time and money, peace of mind, and great sentimental loss. Suddenly I understand the experience so many robbery victims relate—that of feeling violated. And I also realize that the process of recovery is much like the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

A post is going around Facebook—a Venn diagram of two circles—one small and one large. The small tight circle is labeled “Your comfort zone.” Written inside the large expansive circle is “Where the magic happens.” Most Venn diagrams have intersections where the circles overlap, but this one does not. The two circles float independently in space. The lesson being—you have to get out of your comfort zone to find life’s magic.

We all understand the concept, right? As a shrink, I totally embrace (and preach) the value and necessity of doing things differently to achieve longed-for results. Fight your imprisoning fear! Break free of complacency! Embrace change! Get out of your comfort zone! How many times I’ve counseled others to “sit with the discomfort” of doing things differently!

However… as an inveterate introvert, I’m immensely satisfied staying safely within my own comfort zone. I’ve lived in the same house for thirty-one years, practiced psychology for thirty-two, and my longest friendships span forty-eight years. A creature of habit, I cling to my rituals. And I LOVE my life! I love my home, my career, and my friends. My personal comfort zone has been a rewarding place to reside. And, yet… there is the matter of the book I’ve written.

Lately, I’m reminded why I write—why I write my blog and why I wrote my novel East of Mecca. One reminder came April 17. I was at a concert at SPACE, a local venue, when a woman asked if I was “Sheila.” When I said, “Yes,” she said she’d read my book and recognized me from my picture. This was the first time anything like this has happened to me, and I was surprised and pleased. She said lovely things about East of Mecca, but also told me how much she liked my blog posts—how they spoke to her on a personal level—that she recommended my blog to friends. Then she said, “You haven’t written much in a while.” I agreed, “It has been a while.” When I asked her name, I realized she had written a wonderful review on Amazon back in January, giving East of Mecca 5 stars. I thanked her, hugged her, and walked away feeling elated. Sherry Swaggart made my day!

Recent Amazon.com Reader Review for “East of Mecca”

"This book is "unputdownable". It starkly illuminates what life is like for women in Saudi Arabia and is extremely well told by Sheila Flaherty. Just a great read. I couldn't help but be grateful to be living in the U.S. when I closed the book."

Buy My Novel “East of Mecca” Now

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